Meditation

On Spirituality and Scholarship

Originally presented as a talk for the RCIA candidates of St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church (March 17, 2007)

Awake, O north wind, 

and come, O south wind!

Blow upon my garden, 

let its fragrance be 

wafted abroad. 

Let my beloved come to his garden, 

and eat its choicest fruits. 

-- Song of Songs 4:16. 

The erotic poetry of the Song of Songs speaks movingly about the lover and the beloved, the interplay of love, desire, consummation, and delight. God’s relationship with man is thus dramatically embodied. Setting this romantic imagery aside for a moment, however, we can pluck an analogy to scholarly endeavor. This analogy can be discovered by interpreting the verse two different ways: first, taking the wind as Divine breath blowing over the garden of the mind, we shall ask the question, “Where does God fit into my personal scholarship?;” second, considering God Himself as the garden full of “choicest fruits,” welcoming us in to enjoy such delights, we shall ask another question: “How should scholarly inquiry turn to God Himself?”

And so we shall address the first: “Where does God fit into my personal scholarship?” Embracing Catholicism means seeing God in all things. This is true for scholars in a particular way. Catholicism assists the acquisition of a new language – the language of belief, the language of the sacraments, the language of sacrifice, the language of hope, the language of the Church. When once you hear this language of Catholicity, you will begin to discern its echoes even in the strangest of places.

What does all of this mean in concrete terms?

It means that the anti-Catholic literature of the Victorian period necessarily reverberates with Catholic language. It means that aspects of Catholic truth are reflected in Dante’s Divine Comedy. It means that even the dour and obscene James Joyce cannot be understood except against a Catholic backdrop. The question of God’s place in personal scholarship goes beyond an individual discipline. It is not confined or contained in a Theology department (although such departments can play a premier role in championing the place of religion in modern Academia). Even when Catholicism is not being addressed specifically, the Church should inform and enhance all of the ideas of her members. The truth is a light and can be brought to shine anywhere.

This is how the erotic poetry of the English Renaissance can be a vessel for profound spiritual truth. John Donne is a good example of this, and Holy Sonnet 14, “Batter my heart, three-person’d God,” comes readily to mind:

Batter my heart, three personed God; for, you 

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; 

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend 

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new. 

The first quatrain vigorously asserts the emotional force of the sonnet both by its choice of powerful language (“batter,” “knock,” “breathe,” “shine, “o’erthrow,” “bend,” “break,” “blow,” and “burn”) and by the arrangement of that language. The action requested in apostrophizing God is virtually enacted. The poetic meter batters, blows and breaks with every line. The second quatrain introduces a political metaphor: 

I, like an usurped town, to another due, 

Labor to admit you, but O, to no end; 

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, 

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue. 

The force of the opening quatrain now has a concrete physical energy; previously, action was held at the distance of abstraction. The experience of the soul occurred intangibly but with tangible physicality. Now the soul has been made manifest through this metaphor of urban warfare. The concluding sestet embraces a romantic analogy, taking this new-found physicality to the level of bodily intimacy: 

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, 

But am betrothed unto your enemy. 

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again; 

Take me to you, imprison me, for I, 

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, 

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. 

There is much more to be drawn out of this sonnet than I have articulated in this brief close reading. Such a poem must have special significance in these years following upon the Pontificate of John Paul the Great. His “theology of the body” articulates the language of human sexuality and man’s relationship to God. Such a language is, of course, invaluable in appreciating the world as a whole, and it is as invaluable in the task of understanding Holy Sonnet 114. The Pope’s theology can illuminate Donne’s poem. Absolute consummation should be the desire of every soul in its relationship to God. Scholarship should settle for nothing less. 

Integrating scholarship and the spiritual life can be very difficult. If a guidebook outlining practical tactics for surviving as a Catholic in Academia were produced, it would prove very valuable, especially for those poor souls who struggle through a secular university (myself included). It is easy to be led astray even when considering the Church herself. There is a fine fictional example of this in Mrs. Wilfrid Ward’s novel Out of Due Time (a little-known work by a little-known author, both of which deserve marked attention inside and outside formal academic circles). The novel tells the story of a brilliant, young Catholic intellectual who formulates and develops certain theological theories. When he presents his ideas for formal approval by the Church, it is ruled that he has slipped into flagrant heresy. The young man in question rebels against the Church and spends the rest of the novel finding his way back to the truth. 

It is sometimes difficult to sacrifice one’s own ideas to the Church’s authority, but in the end, truth is what we should all be seeking, not personal glorification. We should all follow in the steps of St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Before taking up her pen to write Histoire d’une Ame, St. Thérèse knelt before a statue of Our Blessed Mother and “begged her to guide my hand that it trace no line displeasing to her.” Scholarship, given over utterly to God, soars. 

And now for the second point. “How should scholarly inquiry turn to God Himself?” 

The answer is simple and perhaps a bit countercultural. The lament: “I was a scholar once,” is fundamentally flawed. Scholarship is not something that you do for x number of years and then you are free in mind and body. Degrees come to an end (believe it or not) but scholarship is everlasting. It is important to note that while the pursuit of a degree can be admirable and inspired, the scholarly charism does not depend upon academic credentials. In fact, many tenured professors in the modern academic system have never been and will never be true scholars; their integrity is faulty and their focus solipsistic; ergo, true scholarship is utterly beyond their ken. 

Scholarship is a way of life and a life-long pursuit. Homeschooling parents know this in a special way. My mother certainly did and drilled it into her children. When you homeschool (rather like when you are in graduate school), you don’t do your work from a certain hour in the morning until a certain hour in the afternoon and then spend the rest of your day frolicking among the flowers (unless, of course, that is part of a science lesson). School is all-encompassing, 24/7, 365 days a year, and requires periodic breaks for important matters like sword fights and fully choreographed performances of Gilbert and Sullivan. 

This is exactly of what our journey towards God consists. We are searching for the truth in every area of our life – the search is all-encompassing, 24/7, 365 days a year, and should always include impromptu fencing and Gilbert and Sullivan. We search, and search, and search for the truth, for our own benefit and for the glory of God. And with the Catholic Church behind us, we are especially blessed because we have the truth right here. 

Divine Revelation is a glorious gift. Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition are set before us as a treasure trove for study. We should think of Moses in Exodus 3:15. When God spoke to Moses through the burning bush, the Patriarch desired to know God’s name. He later pleaded to see God’s face. This was not impertinent curiosity; it was a desire for knowledge. We have seen God’s face and continue, through the grace of God and the guiding light of the Church, to witness to His Revelation. God “desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim 2:4). Deep gratitude for this immense gift should make us eager to delve into the richness before us. 

I am what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dubbed “an omnivorous reader.” I devour literature, feel passionate about it, and love to sink into a sea of analysis. We all come to God in our different ways, and through our various vocations. We should all be eager to become omnivorous scholars. With God as our origin and desired end-point, the whole quest for knowledge becomes a quest for Him. If you love someone, you want to learn everything possible about Him. You are eager, desperate, longing to know more. What kind of love story would we have if the heroine just talked about herself all of the time and didn’t bother to find anything out about the hero? We don’t need statistics to prove that such a romance would not have sold well in the Victorian period…or any period, for that matter. True scholarship, like true love, should be unselfish and devoted. 

We shall conclude with John Donne in another garden: 

The University is a Paradise. Rivers of Knowledge are there. Arts and Sciences 

flow from thence. Counsell Tables are Horti conclusi, (as it is said in the Canticles) 

Gardens that are walled in, and they are Fontes signati, Wells that are sealed up; 

bottomless depths of unsearchable Counsels there. 

The modern university may be lacking in certain Edenic qualities (more eating of apples seems to occur than does walking with God), but the idea behind the university is an integral part of man’s relationship with God. God is inviting us to enter that garden of delights. We aren’t given a degree for our labors; instead, we find Him. And that’s much more glorious than a piece of paper.